


No Way in Hades

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Rest in Pieces [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-01
Updated: 2010-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fearsome goddess of chaos, Eris, gets saddled with her brother Ares' immature sons. One of them is surprisingly magnetic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Way in Hades

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a very thinly veiled adaptation of my fanfiction. One does not need to be familiar with "Xena: Warrior Princess" to understand what's going on, however, merely the Greek myths. Nyx forgive me...

Mnemosyne would later smugly comment that Eris had no shred of love in her black heart. The same could be said for her two closest companions, despite their origins. Everyone had wondered, what side would the twin sons of War and Love choose? They blinked their baby eyes with fire and ice, black midnight hair and shock white. Lurking in shadows, the twins caused discomfort when they entered a room, and left a sense of foreboding as they left one. They even gave Ares the creeps. Aphrodite didn’t bother trying to turn them. 

Eris always found it odd to see godlings flit about in physical forms, running through the halls of Olympus tripping over their sandals when they could easily teleport. The twins would compete with each other, testing their speed, strength, and talents at frightening people. They played pranks on members of the court without using their powers, hiding behind pillars and stifling mad giggles. Eris couldn’t relate. They looked so very much like humans, except for the eyes. When she was their age, which she couldn’t remember very well, she manifested from shadow, just a feeling in the air, intangible. An uneasy feeling in the gut. One of the boys, Deimos, said her presence was like hearing a flute gone flat and started calling her Discord. She called the boy Terror, but teased that he couldn’t scare the hair off a cat.

Eris was petite and homely. Her long black hair was usually bushy and tangled, and she often wore a man’s black tunic with leather boots, underneath a warrior’s armor, her hair frizzed out over the battered breastplate, a sheathed sword on her belt. If she really wanted to give a good impression, she would put on a flowing crimson dress, typically a chiton. The war goddess didn’t bother shortening the long garment to her height, but let it drag behind her, accumulating dust and filth, developing ragged edges.

The other gods got the impression she left these articles banging around the bottom of a rusted chest, unlaundered for centuries, but Eris could recreate the look with a hand wave. Ares had summoned her to his temple for a meeting, so it was an occasion that warranted her red chiton. She hurried there now. 

Quite some time had passed since the twins had come to annoy her, and their father, the war god Ares, only mentioned them in passing. Eris had teamed with Ares for millennia, manipulating mortals and orchestrating wars. Her diminutive stature belied her ferocity on the battlefield. Eris was the goddess of discord and strife, and she could insinuate herself quietly into a situation to foment chaos, but Ares brought her to battle for her blazing rage. Quakes rumbled beneath her feet, flames shot from her hands, her small form would grow, and she would let out a piercing shriek to deafen foes. Ecstatic from the bloodshed, the war goddess reveled in such destructive victories. Ares had an unparalleled ally in Eris, who doubled as subtle saboteur and nightmare creature.

Eris didn’t expect to leave Ares’ spotlight so soon, but there they were, the two brats, standing before her. Nyx damn it.

Ares sat in his throne looking bored, leg flung over one armrest, his now-adult sons flanking him. Pale, raven-haired Phobos stood to his right, and met Eris’ gaze with eyes that made her shift on her feet and swallow hard, fear rising in her gut.

Tan, white-haired Deimos wasn’t half as creepy, unless he put in the effort. His specialty was actually a form of panic - that stark, surprising realization of an oncoming threat. The desire to flee more than anything. Phobos’ grim stare made Eris consider leaving the room, but Deimos just looked cocky, like if he opened his mouth, something inane would come out in the guise of wit.

“Hey Discord, I think you made a wrong turn. The Ugly Convention is down the hall.”

Like that.

“You speak when spoken to,” Ares reprimanded his son. Deimos looked sheepish but once his father turned away, mouthed something at Eris.

“You look hot.”

She just rolled her eyes. Hadn’t she babysat the freak?

“I thank you for coming, sister,” Ares said. “I am in need of your…” He paused, making his tone suggestive. “…Talents.”

“My talents?” Eris repeated, raising an eyebrow. She sauntered towards the throne, changing her gait so her hips – what she had for hips, at least – swayed from side to side.

He shot her a flirtatious grin, but swiftly turned serious.

“It is well past the time my sons must taste their first blood, and I can think of no better tutor. There is a conflict brewing between two armies in Macedon.”

“That pitiful little kingdom?” Eris snorted.

Ares glowered. Much like his sons, his eyes took on a solid color, a bloody red, but only for the briefest moment before he put on a smile.

“You’re backing them, aren’t you?” Eris said. “You want Macedon to expand its territory.”

“Precisely, and you’re the most ruthless goddess I know, not to mention inventive, so I’m putting you in charge of half the operation.”

Eris couldn’t help but swell with pride. She always craved Ares’ rarely given praise. Despite their chemistry on the battlefield, they had become distant from each other since his romance with Aphrodite. But she was no longer in the picture; something to do with stalking a human called Adonis. Without her presence, Eris could sweep back into his life.

And his sons’ lives.

“I’m flattered, Ares, but you don’t seriously expect me to babysit your brats?”

“Excuse me, we’re standing right here,” Deimos groused.

Ares stood up. With eyes narrowed, he approached Eris, who was over a head shorter. He tilted her chin up, her lips sealed in a pout. He leaned close to whisper in her ear.

“You _will_ obey me.”

Louder, for his sons’ benefit, he added, “I will give you Deimos to command as you will.” Before she could protest, he added, “He will make an excellent lieutenant, Eris. As will Phobos, which is why he will be with me.”

“Him? You want to pair me with _him?_ ”

“I, for one, am in favor of this decision, Father,” Deimos said. 

“Phobos, I feel you will make a much better lieutenant,” Eris said. “For my purposes,” she hastily added, noticing Ares’ increasing agitation.

“I have commanded you and still you defy me? I am your superior, Eris, not merely your brother. I am War!” he bellowed.

“Actually, Athena might have something to say about that,” Deimos added without thinking.

Before Ares could respond to Deimos’ flippant comment, Phobos finally spoke, “Father, I understand our aunt’s frustration. She and my brother have never gotten along very well. Perhaps it would also be wise to keep Deimos close by you so you may better instruct him.”

He winked at Eris. This one was a keeper, no question.

Deimos snapped, “And why wouldn’t _you_ need ‘better instruction?’”

“Frankly, I’m not as hotheaded as you are,” his brother replied.

“What’s done is done, Phobos is with me. I need his subtlety,” Ares said. At Deimos’ hurt look, he added, “And Eris needs your skills with panic. Hers is the second phase of my plan - shock and awe. You provide the shock, she provides the awe. Got it? Good. Now get out of my sight, all three of you.”

Outside the temple, Deimos sidled up to Eris.

“So, Discord, why are you so afraid to be close to me, anyway?”

Unhesitant, she replied, “Because you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Well, I _could_ be,” he said, leering.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“What in Zeus’ name is your problem, woman?”

“You’re my problem, but not for long. You’re my subordinate, so I order you to leave me alone until the day of the battle.”

“We have to _plan_. And that’s gonna require quite a bit of time. Long hours, just the two of us. We could get take-out. I think there’s a kebab place around here.”

Phobos, sitting against the temple wall some yards away, stifled a laugh, bringing him to the others’ attention. The silent fear god had a sense of humor, at least, probably from Aphrodite’s side. No doubt the same reason Deimos was so Nyx-damned annoying, just like his mother.

“What’s so funny?” Eris asked, tapping her foot.

“You guys make life so much less lonely,” Phobos said, chuckling, before realizing his mistake. His face fell, and he tried to put his stone-cold mask of a face back on, getting a puzzled mix of sympathy and pity from the others. War gods didn’t confess feelings like that. War gods weren’t even _supposed_ to feel things like that.

“I mean…”

“I know what you mean, bro,” Deimos said, smiling slightly at his twin. They looked so much alike, Eris thought. It was beyond strange for her to see them now, as grown men, and to find out they had actually missed her.

“You, me, kebabs, hummus, my place,” Deimos said, pointing at Eris, then two thumbs at himself. Phobos just sat and watched, amused, while Eris squirmed, trying to figure a way out of this. She was millennia older, and his commanding officer. Turning down a date, which was a human concept to begin with, should have been easy.

But in a way, he was a refreshing contrast to Ares, who occupied her mind most days. Time had slowed to a crawl waiting for him to come back to her. His son was easy, and so very young. He was still aging at the rate of a human. She hoped he didn’t think like one, or they’d be in trouble come the war in Macedon.

“As if I would lower myself,” Eris spat.

“I hear you lower yourself just fine,” Deimos replied cheekily.

_“Excuse me?”_

“You’re in trouble now, brother,” Phobos commented. “Have you actually seen Eris when she’s angry?”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Eris growled.

Deimos backed up, holding his hands up. Had she gotten taller?

Phobos, still sitting, could sense Deimos’ growing fear, and had his own aversive reaction to the goddess. She didn’t make a single sound, but he could still feel it in his teeth, a chill down his spine, as if she were scraping metal across stone. So that’s why his brother called her Discord.

“So, Terror, what’ll it be? Buried alive, or burnt to a crisp?”

“Just apologize to the lady,” Phobos prodded.

“Sorry, Discord,” stammered a contrite Deimos. “Won’t happen again.”

Her form seemed to diminish, once again a head shorter. The irritating frequency went away, and Phobos mentally filed the incident for later. Don’t insult Eris' personal life. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still fair game for a scare. 

Phobos stood up and called to his twin, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Deimos still stood close to Eris. Even when she was threatening violence, he liked being around her.  Exasperated, she began a hand wave that would teleport her, but while Phobos’ attention was elsewhere, Deimos stopped her hand, gripping her wrist.

“I really am sorry,” he said, low enough that Phobos wouldn’t hear.

Eris held her glare, but was hyperaware of his palm, his sweat, the heat his skin. It had been too long since anyone had touched her. 

He let go, and she continued her motion, vanishing silently, leaving a faint red mist behind.

“What in Tartarus was that about?” Phobos asked him, having noticed the unusual intimacy.

Deimos shrugged, feigning ignorance.

\--

Despite the casual way he conducted his personal life, the young fear god didn’t hold back at all on the battlefield. There he became a monstrous, ghostly nightmare. Which fit perfectly, because when Eris emerged, she drove a chariot of bone, a skeletal horse before her, shrieking a piercing, discordant pair of notes. They were intangible, at the periphery. Her horse could pass through flesh, but when it came out the other side, that mortal wasn’t left the same, shredded psychically. The two of them tried to keep some control, to make sure their side stayed sane, directing their mortal chess pieces’ hatred at the innocent enemy. Combatants in a mere land feud didn’t deserve this kind of horror, but the two of them were shadow creatures. It was what they were made for.

\--

Eris wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as soon as there was a lull, she stopped shouting, stopped moving, and stood still. Deimos teleported beside her. They were covered in blood and gore, and there were still some people hanging on, just barely, by their feet. The fear god relaxed, his form shrinking, his eyes’ glow dimming, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Terror,” she said, feeling the warmth there. She was tiny and pale again, breathing heavy under her armor, holding her sword and watching the sun set in the distance over the carnage.

War gods weren’t supposed to feel, but there were a few things they did. Ares and Aphrodite’s sons were testament to that. Eris reached up and took Deimos’ hand. She could feel him standing behind her, only just. She leaned back, so he wrapped his arms around her.

Turning around, Eris pulled him close, feeling the radiating heat of his body against hers. She still clutched her sword’s handle, but wished she had her red dress on.

Leaning down, he kissed her, hard. Hastily, he started to unfasten her armor, so she helped him, dropping the metal breastplate to the ground. But when his rough hands tore at her tunic with a terrifying intensity, pulling it up, Eris panicked. She pushed him back with all her strength and pointed her sword at him.

Breathing hard, he looked wolfish. Hungry.

Eris shook her head, blinking her eyes. She rubbed them with her free hand and looked at him again. The fear started to dissipate, and he didn’t look scary anymore. Merely desperate, like a human. But Eris was a goddess, and stronger than him – physically and magically - and for a moment she had felt as helpless as a mortal girl. It was a shock to her system, fearing she was in any danger.

“How did you do that?” she asked, impressed.

Confused, he panted, “Do what?”

Unable to explain, she kissed him, this time, with less ferocity, between them a gentle, building arousal. What would Phobos say? He would walk by and without even trying, fill Eris with the fear she was doing something they would regret for millennia.

“We make quite the team, don’t we?” Deimos said, running his hands over her exposed skin, over her armor, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“That remains to be seen,” she replied, kissing his neck.

They lazily kissed on the corpses of the dead, not for the last time. The memory goddess would be right, they were heartless murderers, although someone quickly glancing would see the tenderness between them, see something beginning. A shred of sick, twisted love.


End file.
